Othello Act II Revisited

An eye for an eye, a wife for wife

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“The beautiful things are difficult.”

Jason M Baxter

,
quoting a Greek expression

Merry Christmas to you, and welcome to Act II.

For this Act’s read along guide, I’m going to integrate the scene summary and theme discussion (since so many of my thoughts occur in response to the timing of the action). We’ll call this the “play-by-play” approach.
Let’s see how we like it:

Scene 1 (306 lines)

On the Cyprus shore, two men stand, overlooking the storm. Things they repeatedly say about this tempest:

• worst storm they’ve ever seen

• it’s a flood

• cannot discern between heaven and the ocean

• doubt any ship could hold together in this storm

Things I’m asking myself: how can I best use these descriptions to understand this story? I know a metaphorical storm is imminent because Iago’s final lines from Act I (“Hell and night must bring this monstrous birth to the world’s light”) have warned me that trouble is brewing. Is the storm Iago is concocting one which will so confuse those within it that it will be difficult (or nearly impossible) to discern which way is up and which is down; where the watery grave ends and the celestial air begins? Will anyone come through safely? And if this storm is like a flood, and the primordial flood was a symbol for baptism, will those who perish in this tempest/flood be resurrected to new life?

Then comes good news: the storm has dispersed the threat of the attacking Turks (so says Cassio, whose ship has just come in). But the bad news is: Othello is still out there.

Things I’m saying to myself: Isn’t it foolish for the Cyprus people to be so certain that the Turks are destroyed if Cassio’s ship from Venice made it through the storm? Is this one of those dramatic irony moments where the audience knows that the threat is still present, even though those on stage think it’s gone?

Then the men who were overlooking the storm talk with Cassio. All of whom have great things to say about Othello, and hope his ship will come safely to shore.

Things I’m saying to myself: Me too, me too. I pray Othello can make it through this storm (of course, thinking of the metaphorical storm already engendered in Iago’s mind). Can we carry Cassio’s hopeful lines with us all the way to the final act of the play, and thus retain hope for Othello?

His [Othello’s] bark is stoutly timber’d, and his pilot
Of very expert and approv’d allowance;
Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death,
Stand to bold cure. (II.i.48-51)

Can we stand to “bold cure” that Othello will not be lost, even after his grave sin at the end of this play? Or, is the tragedy that though in this moment Othello literally has a “stoutly timber’d” ship and “very expert” pilot, that these do not matter if after he has safely landed on the physical shore of Cyprus, spiritually he as a person is in a poorly crafted bark steered by an unskilled pilot (himself)? Or (with Shakespeare there are always many “or’s,” choose your oar and steer there), do we mourn the fact that a strong ship (Othello) will still come to a deadly end if the pilot (Iago, the man who Othello will most listen to) steers the ship to its death? Dare we hope for the salvation of Othello’s soul? Or must we mourn the loss of a man so great? This is a tragedy, what are we to believe as regards the end of our tragic hero?

A ship is seen. To be more accurate, a sail is seen. The sail, which is the topmost, whitest part of a ship’s being, and which catches the wind (symbol of the Holy Spirit), is what carries the bark forward. Is to see a ship’s sail, to see the soul of that vessel? Everyone eagerly hopes this sail is Othello’s. Instead, (surprise!) it is Desdemona’s ship. (Say what?! She’s out there too!? Who knew?) The storm brought her to shore far faster than expected since she (presumably) left later than Othello and Cassio. Cassio says that Nature itself let “divine Desdemona” pass through, sparing her life.

Things I’m asking myself: How do I read what Cassio says? Do I read his praise of Desdemona as accurate (i.e. as a real statement on how grace brings a person through the storm better than physical strength), or as overblown and the type of flowery language a flirty guy says?

Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds,
The gutter’d rocks, and congregated sands,
Traitors ensteep’d to enclod the guiltless keel,
As having sense of beauty, do omit
Their mortal natures, letting go safely by
the divine Desdemona.
(68-73)

And a better question is: do I question the genuineness of these lines because Iago, the liar, called Cassio a flirt? And no matter how genuinely we read these lines, Shakespeare brings us down from the airy heights with Cassio’s quick one-liner prayer that Othello may come home safely, in order that he may:

Make love’s quick pants in Desdemona’s arms (80).

And…we’re back to earth and getting sloshed by beer in the front, slap-stick, penny-a-ticket section of the grinning audience.

Next, Desdemona enters with Iago, Emilia (Iago’s wife), & Roderigo.

Yikes. She’s surrounded by villains.

After Cassio greets her, another sail is seen and attendants are sent to see if this is the long-awaited Othello. To pass the time, Iago and Desdemona engage in witty banter about women’s faithfulness & beauty. Iago confirms himself as a sharp wit and a hopelessly hopeless critic of human nature.

I find myself asking: why this scene now? Iago and Desdemona have presumably had the entire ship’s journey to converse, is this a continuation of previous repartee? And to me, there’s a jarring quality to this conversation in this moment. Desdemona doesn’t know if Othello is dead or alive; she just came through a terrible storm, accompanied by the devil (I mean, Iago) and his henchmen. Why is this her response to these stressful events? Isn’t she sick of talking to Iago? Why doesn’t she act like a stereotypical lady in distress, and either faint or chatter continuously about her past fears for herself and her current fears for her husband? Would it be better not to read her repartee as a sign that she’s callous to Othello’s fate, but instead see this as a moment when Desdemona, as a force for good, is engaging in a battle with Iago, as the force of evil?

Othello arrives (yay!), and poetically greets his wife with joy and eagerness.

Othello: O my fair warrior!
Desdemona: My dear Othello!
Othello: It gives me wonder great as my content
To see you here before me. O my soul’s joy!
If after every tempest come such calms,
May the winds blow till they have waken’d death,
And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas
Olympus-high and duck again as low
As hell’s from heaven. If it were now to die,
’Twere now to be most happy; for I fear
My soul hath her content so absolute
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate.
(179-191)

These beautiful words come in such jarring contrast to the rude puns Iago has been dishing out. It feels as if we, the audience, also breath Othello’s prayer with him. Knowing the end, knowing this is a tragedy, knowing that the winds will blow until they have wakened death, I pray there is a calm after the storm for Othello. Is this Othello and Desdemona’s high point?

Then everyone exits with Othello’s proclamation that because the tempest has drowned the Turks, this warring trip to Cyprus has been turned into a surprise vacation. All exit, that is, except, you guessed it, Iago and Roderigo. Iago’s plot thickens. He claims that though Desdemona loves Othello now, she’s sure to fall out of love with him soon (because Othello is old, and not handsome). Iago says that she will surely fall in love with Cassio, and therefore convinces Roderigo that getting Cassio in trouble will assist Roderigo in getting Desdemona to love him. Roderigo leaves, with the purpose of placing himself on the guard with Cassio and thus finding an opportunity to fight with him, while Iago is left (again) to soliloquize.

I have many thoughts on this section, all musing on the character of evil.

• Liars are surrounded by liars.
  I’m struck by how liars don’t believe anything unless it’s ugly. Iago doesn’t believe Othello’s story. He says that Desdemona fell in love with Othello “but for bragging and telling her fantastical lies” (220-21). Iago therefore either doesn’t believe Othello’s story, or chooses not to. Or, what is perhaps scarier, he doesn’t care. He’s so cynical, he could care less if Othello’s story is true or not, he’s convinced that all in this world is rot, whether people realize it or not. Thus, all people are either purposely lying to others, or are accidentally lying to themselves. Once you begin distrusting everybody, your world becomes peopled with enemies.

• Evil Logic.
  Iago is awfully rationalistic, and down to earth. His is a deadly intellect, which pulls down all statues, and points out the flaws in everyone. This reminds me of the Snow Queen, when fragments of the devil’s mirror (which causes men to see ugliness where there is beauty) enter little Kai’s heart and eye, and he begins reciting the multiplication table, and performing critical imitations of those around him. The adults say of Kai, “that boy will go far,” but little Gerda misses her friend who used to sing with her, and (literally) smell the roses.

• Revenge & Power, not Sex

  Iago chooses to "be in love” with Desdemona because it gives him reason to hate Othello more.

  Now I do love her too;
  Not out of absolute lust, though per-adventure
  I stand accountant for as great a sin,
  But partly led to diet my revenge,
  For I do suspect the lustful Moor
  Hath leap’d into my seat; the thought whereof
  Doth like a poisonous mineral gnaw my inwards;
  And nothing can nor shall content my soul
  Till I am even’d with him, wife for wife;
  Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor
  At least into a jealousy so strong
  That judgment cannot cure. (285-296)

  Iago simultaneously cares nothing for his fellow men, while caring everything about what his fellow men think of him. He cares nothing for his wife (Emilia); he cares a lot about the mere rumor that Othello has slept with her. Negative opinion of him “gnaws” his inside like a “poisonous mineral.” He’s diabolically self-absorbed. He cares nothing for Desdemona. But chooses to “love her too” so that he can take offense at Othello’s having married her, seeking to “diet” or feed his revenge with more reasons to hate. Sex, for Iago, is not about intimacy with another person, or even for personal pleasure. For him, relationships are used for the accrual and maintenance of power. And a man’s wife is the best means for stripping him of standing among other men. Iago is willing to murder a man for less than a rumor. He’d kill rather than be a cuckold.

Scene 2 (13 lines)

A scene of incredibly short length. A herald again announces that the Turkish fleet is destroyed and that, therefore, all of Cyprus should have a party. And to give the party double meaning, it is to be a celebration, also, of Othello’s wedding.

Cyprus, which was expected to be the setting of war, has been made into the venue for a wedding celebration. But in a tragedy my heart can’t help but whisper fears, and distrust things that seem happy. (Does a tragedy cause one to see the world as Iago? As a place full of only negative outcomes?) How will this city of Cyprus remain a battle ground? And will it be a worse battle than it would have been if the enemy had been external to our heroes?

Scene 3 (375 lines)

Othello leaves Cassio in charge to make sure the celebrations do not get out of hand. Then Othello and Desdemona leave to enter the marital embrace for the first time.

The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue;
That profit’s yet to come twixt me and you. (II.iii.9-10)

A teacher of mine once walked through each moment in the play when Othello and Desdemona seek to unite themselves, but where instead of union, the moment is broken in upon and broken apart by the disruptive acts of Iago, whether directly or indirectly. By the conclusion of this play, were Othello and Desdemona ever able to enter into the marital embrace?

As Othello leaves, Iago enters. Cassio welcomes him, and instantly repeats his orders, “we must to the watch.” But, like the serpent in the Garden, Iago asks, “do you really have to watch right now? It’s not even that late yet. The authority figure left early for selfish reasons, we too, then, should be selfish for a little bit, and have a drink.” Cassio does not at first jump at the invitation to drinking fruit which should not be drunk now, therefore Iago tries to bait him into disrespectful and bawdy talk about Desdemona. Cassio responds admirably to this temptation.

Iago: She is sport for Jove.

Cassio: She is a most exquisite lady.

Iago: And, I’ll warrant her, full of game.

Cassio: Indeed, she is a most fresh and delicate creature.

Iago: What an eye she has! Methinks it sounds a parley to provocation.

Cassio: An inviting eye; and yet methinks right modest.

Iago: And when she speaks, is it not an alarm to love?

Cassio: She is indeed perfection.

(II.iii.17-25)

I’m reminded, in this scene, of Fr. Tom Pressley’s admiration for Cassio, which he expressed in Why Read Shakespeare & Literature w/Fr. Tom. Iago is dishing out “locker room talk” at its dirtiest and most flippant. It’d be easiest for Cassio to agree with Iago, and add in his own sexual rejoinders. But he doesn’t. Cassio says nothing here which he would be afraid to have repeated to Othello or Desdemona, or which he would not say to their faces. As a woman, my heart swells for Cassio in this moment, feeling both grateful and complimented by Cassio’s virtuous handling of this situation.

Not getting anywhere with trying to stir up adulterous words, and then feelings, and then actions within Cassio, Iago moves back to wine. Having past the temptation to a larger sin, Cassio falls for this “little” sin of a bit too much to drink, but with deadly consequences which send reverberations throughout the entire play.

What a reminder to us all. Cassio did not fall into a grave sin, but allows himself to be worn down to the partaking of a lesser sin. Cassio’s drinking too much will lead to belligerence, which will lead to the death of an innocent man, which will lead to his removal from office under Othello, which deprives Othello of a good counselor, which gives Iago primacy of place when it comes to providing counsel, which sets the stage for Desdemona’s advocacy for Cassio’s return to his former status, which feeds the jealousy in Othello which Iago is pouring into his ear. One, small moment. Tragedies are said to be stories where you can find little moments, throughout the narrative, which, if changed, would have changed the whole story. This is one such for me.

So Cassio drinks too much, gets angered by Roderigo, kills one of the men on duty (Montano, one of the two men who was overlooking the tempest at the outset of this Act), and Othello is called from his bedroom and into the streets of violence.

Othello: Why, how now, ho! From whence ariseth this?
Are we turned Turks, and to ourselves do that
Which Heaven forbid the Ottomites?
For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl.
He that stirs next to carve for his own rage
Holds his soul light: he dies upon his motion.
Silence that dreadful bell; it frights the isle
From her propriety. What’s the matter, masters?
Honest Iago, that looks dead with grieving,
Speak. Who began this? On thy love, I charge thee.
(II.iii.161-170)

The beginning of Othello’s speech is powerful: “Are we worse enemies to ourselves than our actual enemies? Heaven and Nature kept the Turkish fleet from landing here and killing us. And this is our thanks? To kill ourselves? One Christian against another?”

His rebuke is well said. If only this rebuke were not to turn upon himself by the end of the play! If only Othello’s external peace and the absence of obvious enemies did not provide the means for internal doubt to enter, and thus make him an enemy against his own flesh and blood, against himself and those most intimate to him. Surely many spiritual masters could be quoted here, confirming that the larger danger to one’s soul is often not the times of hardship, but the times when we are on the top of the world, when things are going best, when we have conquered all trials, and achieved all laurels. King David did not fall into murder and adultery when he was fleeing Saul to save his life, but when he was a well-established King, lauded for his greatness on the battlefield and the purity of his heart in God.

God save us from ourselves.

And then at the end of Othello’s well-ordered speech, he ends on an unknown mistake: he commands Iago to speak. Here’s where we ask, what happens to great men when bad counselors have their ear? Iago, whose love is for himself, not for Othello, and who does do himself that which Heaven forbids, namely, that he homages or worships himself, is who Othello trusts.

What I find interesting in this section, is how much Iago says, while purportedly not wishing to, but how little Cassio says.

Othello asks, “who began this?” (referring to the street fighting), and Iago answers:

I do not know. Friends all but now, even now,
In quarter, and in terms, like bride and groom
Divesting them for bed; and then, but now,
As if some planet had unwitted men,
Swords out, and tilting one at other’s breast
In opposition bloody. I cannot speak
Any beginning to this peevish odds;
And would in action glorious I had lost
These legs that brought me to a part of it!
(II.iii.171-179)

Cassio’s only answer to the same question is: “I pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak.”

Iago, too, says he “cannot speak,” and then proceeds to artfully shape the scene by imitating a distaste for speaking against Cassio, but in so doing making Cassio appear at his worst.

Poignantly painful is the simile Iago chooses. He describes Cassio and Montano as a “bride and groom” preparing for bed. The street, then, is compared to a bed, and the two opponents, to a husband and wife. Iago set this external, public conflict into motion, just as he is setting an internal, private conflict into motion between Othello and Desdemona.

Othello, set up for anger by the fact that his second chance at an intimate moment with his new wife has again been interrupted, is duly impatient and angry at these fair speeches, which are filled with no information, and begins to lose his cool:

Now, by heaven,
My blood begins my safer guides to rule…
Iago, who began’t?
(II.iii.197-198, 209).

Then follows ~25 lines of excellent rhetoric. Iago’s power to suggest and hint, while seeming to not wish to even suggest or hint, is masterful. He’s already managed to rouse Othello’s frustration, making him less discerning, and so now Iago delivers the speech which seals Cassio’s fate, while seeming to try not to do so. It’s very well done. And it achieves its purpose:

Othello: I know, Iago,
Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter,
Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee;
But never more be officer of mine.
(II.iii.238-241)

The irony here, of course, is that Othello does not know Iago. That it is Iago’s dishonestly and hatred which causes him to “mince” his words, in order to put forth an outward show of wishing to make light of Cassio’s actions, when his intentions are in fact the opposite.

What is Man’s hope for avoiding a similar pitfall? If evil turns everything so upside down that a man’s discernment cannot tell ocean from sky, what is the safeguard against this? Is it good authority? Does this harken back to the Duke? If the Duke were here, if this were in Venice, would all parties have presented their cases to him, and he, as an impartial but fair and balanced judge, have understood the circumstances fully and made a better decision? Why could Othello not judge and discern as well as the Duke?

Then all exit except, you guessed it, Iago. But this time, he is not left with Roderigo, but with Cassio. After Iago convinces Cassio that his best means for reinstating himself are through Desdemona, Cassio leaves. Iago is again left on stage to deliver an evil soliloquy.

These are not the last lines of this Act. There’s still a final moment between Iago and Roderigo, and then again Iago will be left on stage alone to deal out his evil machinations. I’m going to give Iago’s second-to-last speech of this Act in full, because I continue to think that it is Iago’s perspective that shapes this play, and therefore it is the negative of Iago’s perspective that needs must shape ours.

And what’s he then, that says I play the villain?
When this advice is free I give and honest,
Probal to thinking, and indeed the course
To win the Moor again? For ‘tis most easy
The inclining Desdemona to subdue
In any honest suit: she’s framed as fruitful
As the free elements. And then for her
To win the Moor—were’t to renounce his baptism,
All seals and symbols of redeemed sin—
His soul is so enfetter’d to her love
That she may make, unmake, do what she list,
Even as her appetite shall play the god
With his weak function. How am I, then, a villain
To counsel Cassio to this parallel course,
Directly to his good? Divinity of hell!
When devils will their blackest sins put on,
They do suggest at first with heavenly shows,
As I do now; for whiles this honest fool
Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes,
And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor,
I’ll pour this pestilence into his ear—
That she repeals him for her body’s lust;
And by how much she strives to do him good
She shall undo her credit with the Moor.
So will I turn her virtue into pitch;
And out of her own goodness make the net
That shall enmesh them all.
(II.iii.324-351)

Here again, we have Iago speaking into existence the future actions of this play. What circumstances have given this evil man the ability to wield such action-shaping power?

What chance do good men have against evil, when all their goodness can be used as tools against them? When Desdemona’s feminine concern for the other, is used as a tool to convince her husband that she does not love him? What hope is there if evil dips it’s brush into virtue’s white paint, and covers over all it’s own actions a mask of purity, while using it’s words to pour its own black bile upon virtue, and so besmirch it that a man no longer knows what is good and what is bad?

If I could, my friends, I would end this Act on a light and positive note. If I could, dear reader, I would end with a lovely and hopeful quote.

I do not have one.

Therefore, let us look to a character that remained mostly silent the latter half of this Act, and hope that she will increase in the latter half of this play.

Desdemona, go thy fair way, and may the tempests and rocks see thy beauty, and let thee pass safely by.

Until next time, keep revisiting the good books that enrich your life and nourish your soul.

What We’re Reading:

February

Out of the Silent Planet AND Perelandra by C.S. Lewis

March

That Hideous Strength by C.S. Lewis

April

The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins

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